al and turn her out. But somehow I
forget to do so, until I realise--too late--the havoc she has made with
my work.

I did, however, think, when Miss Griggs mounted guard over Carlotta,
and Antoinette and her cat were busied with luncheon cook-pans, that
my solitude was unimperilled. I see now there is nothing for it but the
tower. And I cannot build the tower; so I am to be henceforward at the
mercy of anything feline or feminine that cares to swish its tail or its
skirts about my drawing-room.

I was arranging my notes, I had an illuminating inspiration concerning
the life of Francois Villon and the contemporary court of Cosmo de'
Medici; I was preparing to fix it in writing when the door opened and
Stenson announced:

"Mrs. Ordeyne and Miss Ordeyne."

My Aunt Jessica and Dora came in and my inspiration went out. It hasn't
come back yet.

My aunt's apologies and Dora's draperies filled the room. I must forgive
the invasion. They knew they were disturbing my work. They hoped I
didn't mind.

"I wanted mamma to write, but she would come," said Dora, in her hearty
voice. I murmured polite mendacities and offered chairs. Dora preferred
to stand and gaze about her with feminine curiosity. Women always seem
to sniff for Bluebeardism in a bachelor's apartment.

"Why, what two beautiful rooms you have. And the books! There isn't an
inch of wall-space!"

She went on a voyage of discovery round the shelves while my aunt
explained the object of their visit. Somebody, I forget who, had
lent them a yacht. They were making up a party for a summer cruise in
Norwegian fiords. The Thingummies and the So and So's and Lord This and
Miss That had promised to come, but they were sadly in need of a man to
play host--I was to fancy three lone women at the mercy of the skipper.
I did, and I didn't envy the skipper. What more natural, gushed my
aunt, than that they should turn to me, the head of the house, in their
difficulty?

"I am afraid, my dear aunt," said I, "that my acquaintance with
skipper-terrorising hosts is nil. I can't suggest any one."

"But who asked you to suggest any one?" she laughed. "It is you yourself
that we want to persuade to have pity on us."

"I have--much pity," said I, "for if it's rough, you'll all be horribly
seasick."

Dora ran across the room from the book-case she was inspecting.

"I would like to shake him! He is only pretending he doesn't understand.
I don't know what we shall do if you won'